When I was younger than I am now, I used to hope that spiritual health was something that I could simply acquire, like a new book or a fine meal. Although I had grown up hearing that the spiritual journey is lifelong and to reflect on strength to go the distance, I was some time into renewing my spiritual life before I really grasped that I had responsibility for my spiritual health. Barring a miracle that I was a new prophet or sage, I wasn’t going to have one moment or experience that healed me and kept me spiritually healthy. Practicing spiritual responsibility was something I needed to attend to every day. Over the course of time, I’ve been able to embrace that practicing spiritual responsibility means following a regular course of practices, and adding to that course in times of greater difficulty and danger.
We are who and what we are. We have the experiences we have. We come from the cultures we do and live with all the gifts and diseases of the cultures we carry and inhabit. We have the waste of our lives and there is nothing and nobody that will can haul that waste away. There may be folks who promise that will happen, but when I listen and follow those folks, mostly what I see and hear are ways to enter the paths of practicing responsibility – which you have to do – or denial and false promises, because you still have the stuff we like to pretend we don’t.
The lotus arises from the muck – an image that is fruitful in Buddhist thought. When God answers Job, one of the striking things God says is: “The lotuses conceal the Holy in their shadows; the poplars embrace the Holy in their shade.” (Job 40:22) What can be overwhelming waste can also be transformed into nourishment for the fruits and flowers of our spirits, but we have to tend that stuff to get the business transformed into nutrient-rich muck. Practicing spiritual responsibility begins with recognizing that reality and tending what I think of as our spiritual compost. Practices – for me, prayer, singing, meditation, study – are how I turn that heap of stuff over for the rain of grace and the sun of mercy and the blessings of transformation – change that detritus into nourishing compost.
There are days I would like someone else to clean up my broken and used bits, but if I don’t attend to it then there will simply be more later. It is like physical exercise. Thinking about doing it and promising to exercise are all very well, but unless we actually go and exercise, we don’t work our muscles or our cardiovascular system or all the other important aspects of our being that are changed by exercise. And if we don’t make that physical exercise a regular practice, every time we do bother to try again, we can become easily tired and discouraged by the lack of instant results.
Regular prayer spaced over the course of my days and nights means I can’t be very far away from my spiritual refuse. Creating a spiritual refuge means I need to cart that stuff out and give it air and light and rain and sun. One of the practices marking Islam is making salat five times a day. These are the prescribed prayers. Other prayers may be offered, but pausing to give thanks and turn toward the center of Life five times a day is a basic Muslim practice. Most religious traditions have prescriptions and traditions for how often to turn away from being consumed by life’s details to the practices of transformation. Arising out of ancient Jewish prayer practices of pausing seven times a day, the Christian practice of praying the hours turns out culturally to fit me well. I make time for at least five of the seven offices, but in troubled times, invariably I’m awake or awaken myself for all seven. I didn’t start that way. I started with daily prayer and then twice daily longer prayer sessions, but that was insufficient and meant I wasn’t able to stay present with the now. So I went back to study and appreciate a different format that has worked for a very long time for a great many people. It wasn’t simple and it isn’t always easy (although it is easier than what happens if I don’t). But the rewards have been well worth the effort.
However, when I first started regular practice again, and each time I have shifted my practice into a higher gear (spiritual mountaintops are rugged soulscapes) I have resented and rebelled against what I’ve needed to do. The only thing that has propelled me along is that I have enough health to know when I’m not doing enough. Fortunately, I don’t believe religion is supposed to make me comfortable. I do believe we are to meet and grow in our discomfort, a belief I came by because I kept meeting discomfort and avoiding it. Tending that discomfort, I learn a lot of things, I nurture my empathy for others who suffer, and I develop greater patience and resilience. Results will vary, depending on what your spiritual issues are.
Spiritual health is a life long endeavor, viewed from afar, a daunting journey. But we need not stay in that perspective. We can break it down, one moment of practice at a time, this hour for these ten minutes, and then that one, pausing at each as a stage in the pilgrimage, an oasis for renewal, encouragement, and hope as we meet our demons and find our friends
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